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"Her Majesty is One Verb Short of a Sentence"

A handful of years ago, I read Jasper Fforde’s The Eyre Affair. Enchanted, I was. I followed it up with the second book, Lost in a Good Book. I was further taken. Much as I don’t take well to fantasy, this alternate reality was so well designed that it swallowed me right the heck up. Brilliant. The care that J.K. Rowling took to create Hogwarts and its rules and regulations is the same care that Fforde took to build this world where fictional characters exist outside of their novels and fairy tales.

Complete with a Judicial system and laws and central libraries that double as headquarters, the joy of bumping into any unforeseeable character was like a cameo by a favorite actor.

I'm at a loss to describe the true thoroughness with which this setting is constructed. And at a loss to explain the quirky, and eccentric characters and details throughout. Don’t believe me? I can do no better than to invite you to the Jasper Fforde website. But be forewarned: True to its intention, you can get lost in there. Hilarious links take you to unexpected discoveries.

Just brilliant.

Orange Steps

Orange is my favorite color. I decided this one day, the way one decides to have something on a menu. I gravitate towards saturated colors as it is, and it quickly became apparent that Orange and Purple were vying for my attention. It took some considering. But in the end, Orange kept taking the top spot. Purple was just too dark. I decided that Orange was more the direction I've chosen to go in my life. I want this brightness, this sensuality, this warmth. It looks like a plushy color. Like it might spring back from touch or like it might stick to any part it comes into contact with. I have no problem with that. I’d be happy to have Orange stick to me.

One of my earliest memories is of daycare. I must have been 3. I was a precocious child, but shy. I preferred to look at maps and read books. I think I had the teacher worried. Other kids were playing with blocks and fighting over play dough. I didn’t like the pink stain that the home made play dough left on my hands. It made it impossible to hold a book later, for fear of ruining those objects which I adored most. But I was a passive child, and did what I was told.

One day, one hot summer day, the teachers rolled out butcher paper under the canopy of a huge tree in the playground, and set out some paints on shallow lunch trays. I could see it coming: finger painting. I just wanted to finish my book. But the clever teachers got me. They managed to intrigue this jaded little girl. We were not to do finger-painting. It was all about the feet painting this fine day. As was my way, I didn’t voice many of my thoughts. Instead I ruminated internally. “Are they kidding? But we’ll get paint all over everything…Is there somewhere to wash afterwards? Are we expected to make something or just walk on the paper?” All along, Teacher Delia worked off my shoes and socks and put them neatly to the side before I realized she’d done so during my internal dialog. I was now barefoot in the playground and before me was a tray of red, one of blue, and one of green paint.

She nudged me along, giving instructions, though I wasn’t really listening because the instructions were self-explanatory. But I just couldn’t get it through my head that I was expected to walk on paint. I don’t know how long it took to coax me onto the activities. I don’t remember which paint I eventually chose. I haven’t the foggiest clue what, if anything, I painted with my tiny baby feet. I only remember standing in front of those trays, presented with the opportunity to do something unheard of.

Anyone who knows me now, knows that my preferred mode of existence is the bare-footed one. And that Art became part of my life in just as unexpected a way as that day of the painted feet. I can still conjure up the feelings of discomfort and forced rebellion in my little pre-school mind. Today Orange is my feet painting. Orange is what makes me feel daring. Orange, in a corporate world, is my life boat.

The Sunday Switch

I guess I've only made a reference in passing about the weekly changing of the guard. So, if we've picked up any new readers (*snort*) or some of you just haven't noticed, I'll 'splain now.

Every Sunday I change the panorama around here. Nothing over-the-top, just some of the accessories, shall we say. Right now, it's all about the Quote of the Week, which I try to center around writing or reading, and the Andrum's Conundrum which I explained in a post on July 3rd, I believe.

I may also add a picture of the week. I'm not sure. I like my current picture because I've always referred to my writings as soap box rants, so finding this particular image was just meant to be. It's stayin'. But I might just start posting an image of the week. Who knows, it might even serve as inspiration. Come to think of it, I should be writing about each quote, Andrum's Conundrum, and Image during the week that I post them....! That would take care of 3 days' worth of postings for the week. *Gasp* There's an idea!

Sometimes I really need to be walked through such revelations.

P.S. Feel free to submit entries into either category, as I love to collect quotes, as well as the other stuff to share. You'll even get a shout-out out of the deal. I know! Be still, your heart!

Hem and Haw

As promised, I must fill this space with some form of written exercise. As warned, these are not all gonna be winners.

Went to see friends today. BBQ for an early birthday. As usual, friends are a good idea. Much laughing, much sharing, lots and lots of eating of junk food.

The Promise of a New Effort

I know I'm probably shooting myself in the foot here, but what the hell.

*Ahem*

I'm going to try to make the effort to, perhaps, maybe, if it's possible, commit to writing something, anything in here on a daily basis. Now, I'm not saying this is going to be in any way the next great novel or reflections from my depths. I'm just saying. Something will be posted on a daily basis and I will attempt to make it worth the glance.

Ok, I've said my peace. Let the challenge commence.

21st Century Luddite

I put a feed link on the margin. I have no idea how it works, but there it is for those of you who do.

Feel free to explain this little enigma.

The Most Trusted Man in America

R.I.P. Walter Cronkite.

An exemplary human being.

Fantasy vs. Reality

I've done no editing on this. I just up-chucked it as you see it here.

Friend of mine asked what up about me and the Fantasy genre. So I decided to really slow it down (my thinking) give it a good stir, and consider. No flippant remarks, no matter how tempting.

Why do we like the genres we like? And why do we not like the ones we do?

I think… I think I've always been a realist. I think that there are aspects about my life that I figured out early in life that I would not ever be able to control. So I think that I decided to identify those things which I could in the interest of providing as much stability, safety, I dunno…. I think I realized early on that the way to control as much as I could about my life was to go about it rationally. Cause and effect, A+B=C, the Scientific Method… these are constants. Follow them and you can’t go wrong. No surprises.

I don’t like surprises. I don’t like twist endings, I don’t like things that I could not have foreseen. So I don’t like Fantasy. Too many variables. If a writer can conjure up a dragon, there’s no line that’s going to be respected. Seven-eared geese-monkeys are next, and clearly, no good can come of that.

I don’t want to be lied to. I don’t want my information sugar coated. I can take it. Life is gritty enough on its own. Give it to me straight. Even as a six-year-old, “happily ever after” smacked of cop-out for me. Like the writer just got tired of thinking and decided that this was a good place to end the story. Everything got wrapped up very quickly and in a pretty pink box with a bow. I always wanted to know what happened next. Did Snow White have a hard time training Prince Charming to put down the toilet seat? Did Rapunzel decide that a pixie cut was far more practical and less painful on her neck?

I tried reading the Hobbit when I was nine and all I could wonder was what was so important about some rock? Actually, my memory is fuzzy, so I'm not sure what it was they were after. But whatever it was, it couldn’t have merited half the crap they put themselves through.

I tried reading Bradbury (Something Wicked This Way Comes) and was completely disinterested in what should have been some terribly eccentric characters.

I tried reading the Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe in 5th grade and couldn’t tell you a thing about it to save my life. Except that apparently there was a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe.

I was never a fanciful child. I was a daydreamer, yes, but my fantasies were more along the lines of real-life adventures. I liked the concept of the Swiss Family Robinson. I liked stories about nature, survival, and adventure. I liked history, documentaries, learning about real people and their trials and tribulations. Real people that had gone through real journeys, which meant that I could do the same. A promise of possibility. These fantasies were reachable. This was something within my grasp. All that other stuff just seemed like a pile of lies. And I always felt like someone was trying to pull one over on me. Let’s see how gullible she is….Let’s see if she buys it. No thank you. You can take your little gremlins and your flying monkeys with you on your way out, thank you very much, I’ll stay here with my tales of journeys around the world.

I think that there were aspects about my life that didn’t let me harbor any ideas about magical solutions. My solutions were always hard won. I earned them. I would not have them dismissed or undermined by some silliness. I liked my books tragic, real, challenging, hopeful, promising, and instructive. I like finding tools for myself in them. Not metaphoric tools. I had no time for symbolic puzzles. I wanted real life tools. Strategies I could put into place immediately.

I think Fantasy was like a religion to me. A religion I wasn’t buying. I resisted it, actively, versus tolerating it and dismissing it. I openly taunted the premise of so many books that I came across. They felt like silly things, meant to distract me from what was real. And I could never really afford to lay down my guard that way. I lived in a very real world and had to stay there.

I think that today, as an adult, I have a combined reaction to them. On the one hand, they continue to be these senseless adventures, but now, from my limited experience, they are also terribly unfit to compete in the big leagues that I've been accustomed to. I grew up with the classics from around the world. Epics, stories of entire generations and tales of strife and persistence. Told in poetic cadence. These writers of the classics knew how to weave the music of words. They are not just a venue, they are to be enjoyed, themselves. Used capably, they were their own reward. I don’t find this distinction in Fantasy writing. Words are cold, meant only to narrate, not so much to be heard. I can’t bond with such a use. I need my words to reach me, to envelope me, to make me feel. I need good writing.

For me, reading Fantasy is like reading a Harlequin novel or watching reality TV. I have to wonder why these characters should exist. They serve no purpose.

That’s just me, though.

The Andrum's Conundrum

Anyone here familiar with The Shins? They rock.

My favorite song of theirs is Australia, probably because it's sort of manic. And the lyrics sort of speak to me. Ok, not sort of. They should be tatooed into my left ventricle.

In any case, there's a line in the song that says something about the android's conundrum. I like the Shins' lyrics because they are quasi-enigmatic, which appeals to my sense of words as art. So when I came across this line, at first I couldn't make out the lyrics and thought that they were saying "andrum's conundrum" and I thought it was some obscure reference. Ever the linguaphile, I looked it up and came across this site: What is Andrum? They do a thorough job of explaining it, so I'll leave it to them. Essentially: "room to breathe".

It wasn't until later that I discovered my mistake, and realized that they're saying "android," not "andrum," but the former idea had me charmed. I liked the conflicting thought of having a place of peace and throwing in a conundrum. Not something to pull one's hair out about, just something that would interrupt the tranquility and inspire a pause to reflect. If you can work it out, you can go back to your peace.

Well, lo and behold, I have here a little nook that I consider my safe place, aptly named Respite and Nepenthe, so it all fits together very cool-like. Therein, I'm establishing a new entry on my margin called exactly that: The Andrum's Conundrum. In it I will post a weekly conundrum and hope that the questions will inspire some thought, conversation amongst friends, and maybe even a minor tantrum. The questions will be selected from The Book of Questions - Gregory Stock, PhD, a favorite over the years which has inspired many a rousing evening of debate amongst my friends.